


let's talk about sex, baby

by heart_nouveau



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Consent, Established Relationship, F/F, Sex Toys, Sexual Experimentation, Strap-Ons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-12
Updated: 2013-12-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 18:08:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1046985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heart_nouveau/pseuds/heart_nouveau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Margaery wants to try something new... in bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let's talk about sex, baby

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea where this came from. THAT IS ALL.
> 
> Title from 'Let's Talk About Sex' by Salt 'N' Pepa.

 

 

She’s really surprised the first time Margaery brings it up.

“Are you okay with the idea?” Margaery says hastily, studying Sansa’s face.

Sansa doesn’t know what to say. Bringing her hands to her face and biting one thumbnail in the nervous habit that she keeps trying to kick, she can feel herself turning red.

Her girlfriend looks worried. “I mean, you’re not a virgin—with a guy, that is—are you?”

“No,” Sansa manages to say.

Part of her feels like she shouldn’t be so stunned. Her glamorous older girlfriend is, after all, the one who has slowly introduced Sansa to all things by way of sex. Everything Margaery has shown her how to do has felt so good, so _right_ , like this is what Sansa’s body has always been meant to do. But this—what Margaery has just asked her to consider—she just doesn’t feel like it’s exactly the same. This would make things different, and it would _definitely_ step things up way past everything they’ve already done.

“Do you think it’s something you’d want to try?” Margaery continues, tentatively.

“I don’t know,” Sansa says honestly. She pauses, squirming for words. “Marg, I’m just not sure if it’s something I’m… ready for.”

Margaery nods. “It’s okay, I totally understand.” She pauses, and then looks at Sansa with a gentle, hesitating sort of expression. “Actually, Sansa… I was kind of thinking—hoping, actually—that you could do it to _me_.”

“Do it to you?” Sansa echoes blankly. And then, as things start clicking into place, she raises her head and stares at her girlfriend, not quite so blankly as before.

Marg nods again, speaking a little faster. “I’ve never done it before, with anyone. My ex-girlfriend really wasn’t into the idea, and—” She stops abruptly, probably seeing the look Sansa now can feel spreading across her own face.

Sansa doesn’t have much experience, with girls _or_ with boys, and her girlfriend knows that. So she doesn’t really like to hear about Margaery’s history—not because she’s jealous, exactly, but just because it’s overwhelming. And now, to hear _this_ … it’s just a lot to handle.

She takes a deep breath, trying to keep her emotions under control. Because she’s amazing, and because she can always tell when Sansa’s freaked out about something, Margaery quickly cups Sansa’s face in one hand and pulls Sansa close.

“Hey, Sans—I’m sorry. I don’t mean to freak you out, and I know this is kind of a lot to take in. It’s just that… you’re really special.” Margaery pauses, biting her lip, before flashing Sansa one of her cute little smiles, the kind that had gotten Sansa thinking about her in a way that was more than just friendly in the first place. She reaches across the table to take Sansa’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “And… I just want to try something new with you. Something that neither of us has ever done before.” 

Sansa nods, a warm feeling slowly spreading in her chest at her girlfriend’s words. They’ve only been dating for about eight months now, but that’s been more than enough time for Sansa to realize that Margaery knows about things she’s never even dreamed of. The idea that Margaery is inexperienced in some way, and wants to change that for the first time with Sansa—it makes her feel needed in the best possible way. And that, honestly, isn’t an experience Sansa thinks she wants to pass up.

 

 

* * *

 

 

She needs to talk things out, though, first. It isn’t easy.

“I guess… I just kind of thought that lesbians don’t like strap-ons. Doesn’t it go against what you like on principle? No, um, you know… no dicks?”

Sansa is blushing, hard, just saying the word. _Why is talking about sex always so embarrassing?_ She’s so bad at this. Then again, she’s never been in the kind of relationship where you get to talk about what you feel comfortable or uncomfortable doing. Like so many other things about her relationship with Margaery, this is new for her.

They both pause for a moment, looking at one another thoughtfully. It’s kind of a funny conversation for her and Margaery to be having—talking about dicks. When they first got together, lots of people (well-intentioned or not) had sort of tried to insinuate that the only reason they were dating was because Sansa wanted to try something different after getting hurt by a man.

So it had been kind of difficult, at first. And it hadn’t helped, when Sansa was trying to seriously tell people that she and Margaery were dating, that the two of them don’t identify the same way sexually. Margaery is like, the most charming femme lesbian to ever attend their university; most people can’t even tell she’s gay because she flirts with _everyone_ —men, women, inanimate objects (“Be serious!” Margaery says, snorting, when Sansa teases her that this is totally the case). Sansa, on the other hand, isn’t sure what she’d call herself. She’s always _felt_ something for girls, but had sort of assumed that all girls looked at each other’s bodies in the appreciative way that she did. And she’d always had crushes on boys too, insane crushes, hero worship crushes. Then her last boyfriend turned out to be a total trainwreck, and she met Margaery, and…

But the truth is that Sansa isn’t with Margaery because Margaery isn’t Joffrey; she’s with her because she’s _Margaery_. She hasn’t quite found the words to express that to Margaery yet. But Sansa’s going to tell her, soon, because it’s really important and Sansa knows that it needs to be said.

Margaery smiles somewhat coyly and shakes her head. “No, not necessarily. Besides, there _aren’t_ dicks involved, technically, you know? Penetration isn’t automatically heteronormative—not if you do in a queer context. It’s just about liking different things sexually. Not to get all political on you there,” she adds belatedly. Her mouth quirks up in the cute way that it does when she’s trying not to laugh, but she still looks a little cautious. She’s clearly trying her best to lay everything out on the table, to make sure that Sansa is as comfortable with the idea as possible. Sansa is honestly touched.

“So… you want to try it because it’s something different?” Sansa says tentatively, biting her lip.

“Yeah.” Margaery grins wider, looking particularly naughty. “Besides… I think it could be a lot of fun.”

Sansa can’t help it—it’s so hard to deny Margaery anything when she has that look on her face. She’s so cute. And… _who knows, maybe she could be right?_ _It could be fun. Maybe._ “Okay,” she says, deciding. “Yes. Let’s try it.”

Margaery catches her breath; she looks like she can’t believe that Sansa has actually agreed. “Really, Sans? Like, _really_ really?” 

“Yeah.” Sansa smiles back, feeling relieved and nervous at the same time. And Margaery’s shriek of excitement and the lung-crushing hug and giant kiss she gives Sansa as a reward—well, those aren’t half bad, either.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They decide to do it on a Friday night.

Sansa goes over to Margaery’s apartment, and it’s really romantic. Margaery’s lit all these candles, so it smells amazing, and there are roses everywhere. They have dinner, which is spaghetti al pomodoro and red wine from Argentina and chocolate mousse that Margaery made from scratch; and it’s all delicious, since Margaery is as good at cooking as she is at everything else (school, sex, parties… everything, really). Then they move to the couch, both flushed from the wine and how handsy they were getting under the dinner table, and start making out.

Just like always, it’s great. Sansa stretches out easily on top of Margaery, Margaery’s legs wrapped around her waist as they kiss. Marg, beneath her, doesn’t break eye contact—and that’s always been one of the hottest things about kissing Margaery, how she looks at Sansa as if Sansa is the only person left in the world. Time slips away, dazedly and deliciously, from the two of them and just as she’s leaning forward to mouth her way down Margaery’s collarbone, Sansa suddenly has an overwhelming urge to sit up and ask if they can’t just have sex the normal way. It feels so good already, what they’re doing--why can’t she just go on and make Margaery come the way Margaery taught her, with her tongue and fingers crooking inside Margaery until her girlfriend cries out in relief? Why do they have to try something new and potentially really scary? If Margaery insists on doing something unusual, Sansa thinks, they could even try scissoring again (which had made Sansa blush redder than a fire engine the first time Margaery explained it, but is now secretly kind of her favorite thing to do).

“How do you know all these things?” she asked Margaery once, when they had just started dating and Margaery was apparently making it her personal mission to introduce Sansa to every single ice cream flavor of lesbian sex, even though Sansa would have been perfectly fine with vanilla. So to speak.

“What, you don’t watch porn?” Margaery had said, laughing, and then she’d stopped at the look on Sansa’s face. “Oh.”

“So, um, porn, then?” Sansa had said weakly.

Somehow she fights the urge to chicken out now, reminding herself that all of Margaery’s previous suggestions have ended up being at least worth a try (and usually more than just one—scissoring being just one outstanding example). That doesn’t stop her heart from pounding a million times a minute, though, as they move to Margaery’s bedroom. Sansa perches on the edge of Margaery’s bed, feeling about as nervous as the first time she and Margaery had ever slept together (six months ago, she knows without having to think twice). _That_ had been quite the experience… she’d never thought that another person could be so sweet, and so patient. But as far as that goes, Margaery hasn’t ceased to surprise her, even to this day.

Margaery leans over and turns on some music, something with a silky bass line; next to the speakers on the bedside table, there are cut pink roses in a glass bowl. And when Margaery reaches into the table drawer and draws something out, what she’s holding in her hand is also pink.

“Wow,” Sansa manages, her mouth instantly going dry. “It matches.”

It’s true. The strap-on is electric pink, and glittery. Margaery nods, her eyes warm and lighting up a little bit.

“I got lube, also,” she says, drawing out a small silver bottle from the same drawer. “I read that it can be really useful. I mean, maybe we won’t need it, but… you know.”

Sansa has to take a deep breath and look away. She’s been mentally preparing herself all week, but now, confronted by the sparkly sex toy in the flesh (in the plastic?!), she’s seriously beginning to doubt that she’s really this… kinky.

She blushes even thinking the word to herself. She has tons of friends who are way cool about sex—Randa Royce, for example, who works at the student health center giving out free condoms and dispensing sex advice (she’s the one who first told Sansa about tribbing, then just about died laughing at the look on Sansa’s face)—and Mya Stone, who is actually the only other girl Sansa has ever kissed besides Margaery. But she, Sansa, has never been like that. She’s never been cool about sex, or particularly imaginative. She would never be able to think up _half_ the stuff Myranda says people get up to in bed.

Because she feels like she has to do something, Sansa awkwardly reaches for the tiny bottle and turns it over, reading the label out loud before she can stop herself. “Liquid Silk… for a warm, loving, satisfying _finish_. Oh. Haha. That’s funny.” Sansa tries to stop talking, but it doesn’t work: she’s on full-on, freaked-out autopilot. She lets out a strangled chuckle.“It, uh—looks great. Looks like… some really great lube.”

Margaery gives Sansa a fond, slightly incredulous look, but mercifully doesn’t respond. She sits down next to Sansa on the edge of the bed, and rests one gentle hand on Sansa’s thigh, trailing her fingers very slowly up. Then she leans close and whispers, “All right, baby. Are you ready?”

Sansa, equally turned on and terrified, lets out her breath. _Come on, what do you have to lose?_ she thinks at herself aggressively, desperately. _Besides your nerve?_ She turns to stare at Margaery, who bites her lip and stares back at Sansa. And Sansa realizes with surprise, reading the look on her girlfriend’s face, that Margaery is nervous,too.

“What do you think?” Margaery adds, her voice low and throaty, but she sounds as breathless as Sansa feels. Without breaking eye contact, she gently extracts the bottle from Sansa’s nerveless fingers and reaches back to set it on the bedside table.

“Um—” Sansa fumbles for words, and also with the hem of her own shirt. She can do this. She can. “Yeah. But can we just—start slow?”

“Yeah,” Margaery says with a slowly spreading smile, and just like always, it makes Sansa’s heart pool in her chest with warmth. Marg presses her forehead to Sansa’s, and Sansa feels rather than sees her lips form the next words. “Sure.”

Margaery’s so gentle as she draws her hand down Sansa’s back, before letting it come to rest at the hollow of Sansa’s back to pull her closer. Then they’re moving against each other just like they always do, and Margaery gently tugs Sansa’s shirt over her head and bends to kiss the tops of Sansa’s breasts. In her turn, being as assertive as she’s learned she likes to be (and that Margaery _really_ likes, too), Sansa quickly begins to unbutton her girlfriend’s shirt. Spreading her hands over her girlfriend’s breasts— _ugh, boobs, why are you so amazing?—_ she draws Margaery’s right nipple into her mouth, not wasting any time in getting started. Marg gasps sharply at the sudden pressure, arching her back, shifting in her seat, and rises up into Sansa’s hands.

Things escalate quickly, and pretty soon they’re in nothing but their underwear, rubbing against one another and sliding back onto the bed. Sansa’s spread out over Margaery once again, kissing Margaery’s neck and rocking against her when she checks, sliding two gentle, questioning fingers between her girlfriend’s legs. The instant answer is that Margaery’s wet, _really_ wet, and Sansa swallows hard, immediately even more turned on than she already is.

“Um, okay,” she says into Margaery’s ear, not quite sure what comes next, “are you ready? Should we—”

Margaery nods vehemently, so quickly that Sansa is startled into laughing. She pulls back and Margaery giggles at her, breathless, nervous. “Okay,” Sansa says, trying to stay calm, sitting back on her heels. “Let’s…”

Margaery sits up quickly and reaches for the strap-on, where it sits on the bedside table. Feeling awkward and also incredibly erotic, Sansa gets off the bed, kicking off her underwear. Margaery loosens the straps and holds them out for Sansa to step into the harness, which Sansa does. Then, pressing her body fully against Sansa’s, Marg tightens the straps with careful concentration. She sits back on the bed with a look of satisfaction at completing her task, and Sansa takes one hasty step backward.

They both stare at the pink dildo, sticking straight out from Sansa’s crotch. For a moment, it’s really, _really_ weird.

“Oh, my God,” Sansa says, because she doesn’t know what else to say. “Oh… my God.” She screws her face up and gives her hips an experimental twitch. “Is this how guys feel?” she says pathetically, at a loss.

Margaery actually giggles. “You’re not a guy,” she says, and cups Sansa’s face in her hand. “You’re just a girl wearing a pink strap-on, that’s all.”

“It’s just—”

“Weird?” Marg catches the disgruntled look on Sansa’s face and lets out a super loud laugh, clapping a hand over her mouth. “Oh, my God, Sansa! I know. Baby, I know.” She smoothes her hands over Sansa’s arms comfortingly, and then stands up on her knees to meet Sansa eye-to-eye. Sansa’s trying really hard not to pout, but… she hates this. She’s wearing a _dick_ , for God’s sake! Is this really what Margaery wants? Marg goes on, soothingly. “Let’s just try it, okay? If you’re not comfortable, all you have to do is say so—and we can stop. Okay?”

Sansa takes a deep breath. “Okay,” she says in a small voice, fighting the urge to say anything else, anything to delay the inevitable moment where she’ll be expected to step up to the plate and _perform._ It’s not hard, though, because Margaery leans forward and kisses her, hard—trust Marg to always know how to distract her.

Then, breaking away from their kiss without warning, Margaery abruptly bends until she’s almost crouching on the bed. She slides one hand lightly over Sansa’s ass, and takes the tip of the strap-on into her mouth, lips closing around it as her cheekbones jump out suddenly. From where Sansa stands, stunned, looking down at her, Marg looks beautiful, and _so_ sexy. She stares up at Sansa with hot eyes, as if daring Sansa to back down now, but Sansa couldn’t move even if she wanted to. Even though her girlfriend isn’t even touching her there, Sansa feels herself growing hotter, wetter, with an insistent yanking sensation between her legs.

After a few beats Marg finally straightens up and, although she’s not smiling, there’s a light in her eyes that says she’s more than ready to begin. “Good?” she says throatily, like it’s nothing, and even though Sansa’s brain feels like it might be shorting out, she manages to nod.

“Lube—?” she falters, remembering. “I don’t think we need it—?”

Margaery shakes her head, and lets out a little laugh. “No. Definitely not.” She turns and lies back on the bed, and then half-sits up again, arranging herself on the pillows. Then, as if to signal that she’s ready, she looks up at Sansa, her little breasts falling to the side, belly rising and falling with her shallow breaths. One hand falls between her legs, and Sansa sees that she is touching herself as she waits. _Oh… my god._  

Sansa takes a deep breath, steadying herself, and gets onto the bed on her knees. Margaery’s bold confidence of the past few moments doesn’t seem to have lessened; she’s moving in tiny movements of anticipation on the bed, rolling her hips up. Somehow, though, Sansa can sense that Margaery is nervous, and when they lock eyes Sansa reaches out without thinking and laces Margaery’s fingers through hers. With her other hand, she gently pushes Margaery’s legs so that they fall apart, one bent, one resting over the edge of the bed.

“Are you ready?” Sansa says, not taking her eyes off Margaery, her stomach knotted in a heady mix of butterflies, nerves, and excitement at the sight of Margaery laid open, waiting for her like that. Margaery, gazing up at her, nods.

Nearly breathless with anticipation, Sansa moves forward a little awkwardly on her knees and takes the strap-on in one hand. Then, biting her lip, she rubs the tip against Margaery’s entrance—and it’s honestly really weird to be so far removed, to _see_ Margaery’s wetness when usually she’s so close she can only feel and taste it. At the sensation, Margaery closes her eyes briefly and lets out a sound, a little gasp, a rush of released breath that makes Sansa so hot that it’s hard to concentrate for a moment.

Beneath her, Margaery lifts her hips slightly, as to remind Sansa what she’s supposed to be doing. _Right._ Taking a deep breath and rising up a little on her knees, Sansa carefully places the tip of the strap-on where it needs to go. Then, very slowly, not breaking eye contact, she pushes into Margaery.

It’s the weirdest, best feeling she’s ever had. Like, she can’t _feel_ being inside Margaery, but she can feel everything else: the heat of Marg’s leg slung haphazardly over her own, Marg’s fingers tightening where they’re laced through hers, and the delicious, mounting pressure of the harness tugging between her own thighs. And she can see that look on Margaery’s face, like a sustained, soundless cry—it’s amazing. It’s absolutely amazing.

The entire time Margaery is practically holding her breath, catching it in sharp little snags that sound like “Oh— _oh_ ” and when Sansa finally stops, she lets out a sigh like something getting ripped in half.

“Is that—?” Sansa starts, suddenly worried that she’s hurt Marg somehow, and she draws out slightly. But beneath her, Margaery rolls her hips up, nodding, bottom lip caught between her teeth in a picture of eager impatience. “Sans, that’s great, don’t stop—” So with relief and concentration, Sansa eases all the way out before gently pushing her way back in. “Oh, my God, Sansa,” Margaery breathes beneath her, eyes shuttering closed for a moment, “that feels _amazing_.”

It’s awkward trying to find the right angle to keep going but Sansa does, working with small, contained movements of her hips. With every movement, Margaery lets out a little whimper that makes Sansa crazy. It seems insane to her that her uncoordinated, uncertain thrusts could be taking any effect but it seems like they really _are_. All she can think of to do is keep going, so she does—and soon she’s pushing in and out with a more or less slow, steady rhythm.

Almost automatically, Sansa reaches down between them and her fingers find Margaery’s clit, gently stroking. Between that and the thrusts of her hips, it all feels equally familiar and yet unfamiliar. “Oh,” Margaery says heavily, eyelids fluttering, as if with a jolt of recognition at the feeling of Sansa’s fingers on her, and the way she says it touches Sansa’s spine with liquid electricity and compels her to lean down and cover Margaery’s mouth with her own, hard. Her girlfriend shudders, arching her back so that her breasts press against Sansa’s. Sansa no longer feels the need to ask if Margaery likes it, because what she’s doing—incredibly— is clearly working.

Still, Margaery hasn’t come, so Sansa keeps going, placing one hand on the bed to steady herself. Doing this takes muscles Sansa didn’t even knew she had, all in her lower abs. _God,_ she thinks distractedly, _I need to do more crunches_ , and randomly the thought pops into her head that she’s heard that the way male models get those sexy V-lines in their abs, the ones that disappear into the front of their jeans, is from sex. _That’s me_ , she thinks, in the unfocused, dreamy way that thoughts come to her when she’s having sex. _I am the male model_. And then, looking at Margaery arching up and whimpering beneath her, _And I’m a_ total _stud_.

She lets out an unexpected laugh at that, and Margaery looks up at her, smiling. “What?” she asks, almost too breathless to speak, lifting her hips up and wriggling to get closer to Sansa.

“Nothing. I’m just enjoying this more than I thought I would.” She trails off, stroking one of Margaery’s breasts, slowing down her hips’ motion for a moment.

“Yeah, well, I told you,” Margaery pants, giving Sansa a knowing look, “didn’t I?” That’s _such_ typical Margaery, to feel as if she’s got everything under control even as she’s being fucked with six inches of sparkly pink silicone cock. Sansa fights the urge to roll her eyes. “Did you?” she answers cheekily, simply, before bracing her muscles and giving her girlfriend an extra-hard thrust without warning—and that shuts Margaery up with a loud moan, just as she’d hoped it would.

“Did you like that?” Sansa demands softly, feeling ridiculously dirty as she says it. “Oh my _God_ , yes,” Margaery says, panting, so Sansa leans forward and gives it to her harder, again, although she’s getting tired. “Oh—yes, don’t _stop_ —oh, my _God_ , Sansa—”

And Margaery comes, incredibly, monumentally (even in her orgasms she manages to demand attention, as if sucking all the air and light in the room to herself). Her eyes are screwed tightly shut, rose-pink mouth drawn into an O as she gasps through it in a series of sputtering breaths. Sansa gives her one long, final thrust of her hips before shuddering to a stop. Then she leans down, feeling possessive, and kisses Margaery open-mouthed.

“Did you like it?” she asks through their kisses, even though it’s obvious to both of them that it’s a rhetorical question. Margaery only writhes under her, breathing hard, and nods emphatically. “What did you think?” she mumbles back finally, into Sansa’s mouth. When Sansa finally sits up, her girlfriend smiles up at her with some of her usual verve. After a moment Margaery sits up on the bed too, her cheeks red, forehead gleaming with sweat, her wavy brown hair in disarray.

“I,” she stops to take a deep breath, “I read that you would be able to come too, with all the stimulation. But—did you?”

Sansa sits back on her heels and shakes her head wordlessly. She’s still overwhelmed by everything. Now that her motion has been stilled, she can sense that she’s really close to finishing herself; she slides one hand between her legs, almost distractedly.

“But you’re close?” Margaery presses, looking really turned on, and Sansa nods. “Okay,” her girlfriend says, single-minded and determined, and before Sansa knows it she’s on her back and Marg is lifting her hips and unfastening the strap-on. Marg carefully sets the toy on the bedside table before bending down again and gently snaking her arms around Sansa’s thighs. Then her mouth is on Sansa and it’s clear that she’s not going to finish without making her girlfriend come, too.

Margaery looks up the entire time she’s eating Sansa out, and the intense look in her eyes along with how _close_ Sansa already is makes Sansa shudder and come in like, twenty seconds flat. “Oh my _god_ ,” she whispers, shaking. Then, extending her arms to Margaery, she demands imperiously, “Come here.” Her girlfriend obeys, crawling up to lie beside her, and tugs the covers up over them. They nestle together, almost nose-to-nose, warm and snug and glowing after everything they’ve just done.

“How was it?” Marg whispers, after a few moments. “Was it totally awful?”

“Not totally awful,” Sansa answers in a very small voice.

“Oh. Good.” Margaery peers at her, brown eyes very bright. “Because it kind of looked like you were enjoying yourself there, for a moment.”

“Oh, my god, Margaery. Could you just…” Sansa pauses for a moment, trying not to laugh, but then she gives in and does anyway. Taking her girlfriend’s hands between her own, she plays with Margaery’s fingers for a moment. “You’re ridiculous. It was… good, actually. Hard. But good.”

Marg’s eyes drift closed for a moment; she looks sleepy. “What do you mean, hard? Apart from the obvious."

“Ha ha. Just… getting the rhythm down. Getting used to it.” Sansa shakes her head slightly, thinking about it.

“Well,” Margaery says slyly, “you know what they say about practice…”

Sansa can’t help it—she starts laughing again. Margaery’s giggling too, and it’s just funny because Margaery can be so coy and downright adorable, but when it comes to what she wants in bed she really will go to any length to get it. Finally, her breath still a little studded with laughter, Margaery raises one hand to gently stroke Sansa’s face. “So… what do you say? Do you think you might want to do it again?”

Sansa pretends to think, but she already knows the answer. Once again, Margaery has turned out to be right, and Sansa is actually glad she tried this. (Even though it was weird. Even though it was _very_ weird.) 

“Yeah,” Sansa says, and though she’s smiling, her girlfriend’s smile is even wider. “Definitely.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Just kidding... I lied. This actually came from a random thought: "Wouldn't it be hot if..." And thus this entire fic was born. You're welcome??


End file.
